Black Lives Matter activist Cori Bush's victory over Rep. Lacy Clay, a senior member of the Congressional Black Caucus, captures both the pain and the promise facing a new generation of African American candidates.
Bush narrowly bested Clay, who's represented St. Louis for two decades, in this month's Democratic primary and is overwhelmingly favored to win the House seat this fall — benefiting from this year's surge of donations to outsider candidates of color, for decades among the least likely politicians to benefit from the tidal wave of cash coursing through the campaign finance system.
Bush lost to Clay by 20 points in the primary two years ago. But money started fueling her comeback in a big way this spring following the police killing of George Floyd, which sparked mass protests across the country about police violence and systemic racism — and promises by the marchers to follow-up with intensified political activism.
Bush tripled her fundraising from 2018, raising more than $200,000 this spring alone — twice Clay's receipts in April, May and June. She also benefited from close to $250,000 in outside spending, most of it from the progressive group Justice Democrats.
It was an impressive turnaround for a 44-year-old registered nurse, single mother and political novice who had been dismissed by campaign experts as unelectable. "We've been called radicals, terrorists," Bush told supporters on election night. "We've been dismissed as an impossible fringe movement. That's what they called us."
Bush is one of a record 267 women of color running for Congress this year, half of whom are Black. Many were initially overlooked by the leaders in their respective parties but have gone out to raise substantially more than their opponents — especially in the second quarter of this year.
Especially for Black candidates, both men and women, the recent money surge reverses generations of institutional fundraising bias that's hindered their advancement, baked into both societal wealth gaps and campaign finance rules.
Money has flowed not only to individual candidates like Bush, particularly Black Democrats representing their party's progressive wing, but also to a burgeoning infrastructure of nonprofits, consulting firms and political action committees focused on voting rights and voter turnout, campaign training, fundraising and directing contributions to candidates of color.
These include Fair Fight PAC, a group associated with 2018 Georgia gubernatorial candidate Stacey Abrams, which has raised an astonishing $26 million in this election cycle; The Collective PAC, which recently received $2 million from Michael Bloomberg for voter registration; and the racial justice group Color of Change, whose membership reportedly shot from 1.7 million to 7 million in a matter of days after Floyd's killing under the knee of a Minneapolis police officer.
Individual Black candidates are also raising big money. Also in Minneapolis, attorney Antone Melton-Meaux has raised more than $4 million — allowing him to spend twice as much on advertising than first-term incumbent Ilhan Omar, his opponent in a highly competitive Democratic primary on Tuesday.
In South Carolina, Jaime Harrison, the former state Democratic Party chairman, has raised $28.6 million in his challenge to GOP Sen. Lindsey Graham, who's collected $29.9 million. John James, an African American Republican challenging incumbent Democrat Gary Peters for the Senate in Michigan, has netted $20.5 million, just behind Peters's $21.6 million.
African American women, who traditionally face the biggest barriers to political fundraising, have in some cases well outraised their opponents in recent months. In central North Carolina, Democratic challenger Pat Timmons-Goodson raised more than twice incumbent Republican Rich Hudson in the second quarter, netting $845,000 to his $329,000. In the race for an open House seat on Long Island, Democrat Jackie Gordon has $1.1 million cash on hand, giving her an 11-to-1 cash advantage over Republican state Rep. Andrew Garbarino. In Ohio, Democratic challenger Desiree Tims outraised incumbent Republican Michael Turner of Dayton by more than $300,000 in the second quarter.
"They were not top tier-candidates according to the chattering class," says Glynda Carr, president and CEO of Higher Heights for America, which assists politically active Black women. "But they went into their elections and frankly out of their primaries as the races to watch."
Not that the institutional fundraising obstacles facing Black candidates have suddenly melted away. The nation's enormous racial wealth gap, whereby the average white family has roughly 10 times the net worth of the typical Black family, has only worsened since the pandemic. And plenty of African American candidates complain of being rebuffed by the Democratic establishment. These include Erica Smith, who aspired to be North Carolina's first Black female senator, but who saw $12 million lavished on Cal Cunningham, a white male, by Democratic groups on the way to winning the nomination to challenge GOP incumbent Thom Tillis.
Advocates of campaign finance reform have long argued that political money rules that steer unlimited, often-undisclosed contributions from a handful of wealthy white billionaires to unrestricted outside groups tend to freeze out candidates of color. Public financing to match low-dollar contributions tends to to diversify the candidate pool.
Black candidates still face ingrained assumptions about their electability and fundraising clout, says Steve Phillips, the founder of Democracy in Color, which advocates for more racial diversity in politics.
"The rhetoric is easy," says Phillips. "But doing the hard work to actually move the resources" is much harder. "Are we going to balance out the financial playing field here, or not?"
He noted that a Bay Area fundraiser scheduled for Tuesday, which will divvy receipts between several Democratic Senate candidates, showcased the white man running for Senate in Georgia — Democrat John Ossoff, who will face Republican incumbent David Perdue this fall — but not the Black candidate, the Rev. Raphael Warnock, who is running the same day in an all-candidate special election for the state's other Senate seat.
"It's reflective of the blinders that white gatekeepers have," says Phillips. Still, he noted that a recent philanthropic outpouring will steer literally hundreds of millions to groups run by people of color.
The Open Society Foundations, run by philanthropist George Soros, has announced $220 million in grants to groups advancing racial justice and civic engagement. Novelist and philanthropist Mackenzie Scott, previously married to Amazon founder Jeff Bezos, has given $587 million to racial equity groups.
"That's both the promise and the challenge," says Phillips. "Those contributions do transform the landscape. But is the rest of the donor universe going to follow suit?"
Carney is a contributing writer.




















A golden tray sits on the Resolute Desk as President Donald Trump speaks during an announcement on American nuclear innovation in the Oval Office at the White House on July 24, 2026, in Washington, D.C. Trump is signing multiple executive orders targeting the nuclear energy sector and easing rules for new reactors and nuclear fuel supply chains.
Trump’s hubris rivals the fallen heroes of ancient Greek mythology
In January, the New York Times asked President Donald Trump if there were any limits on his global powers.
“Yeah,” the president responded, “there is one thing. My own morality. My own mind. It’s the only thing that can stop me.”
That was eight months ago, but fortunately Christopher Nolan’s blockbuster adaptation of “The Odyssey” has made ancient Greek literature newly relevant. Before that window closes, I’d like to talk about hubris.
Today, the term mostly means excessive pride or arrogance. That’s part of what the Greeks meant by it too, but the meaning was a bit richer and more specific. Hubris was an insolent or outrageous act that offended the gods, often because the transgressor was claiming abilities or authorities that solely belonged to supreme beings.
Nolan renamed and slightly modified the concept of xenia for the film, calling it “Zeus’ law.” In the director’s telling, mortals should follow the rules laid out by the gods, specifically the requirement to treat strangers with respect lest they be gods in disguise.
In a sense, hubris is the opposite, or at least the rejection, of xenia. The hubris of the suitors, and at times Odysseus himself, invites punishment by the gods and their mortal instruments.
Which brings me back to Donald Trump. His claim that there are no constraints on his personal power to dictate events on the global stage was one of the greatest expressions of hubris ever uttered by a political leader.
Trump’s claim was obviously false when he made it.
He vowed that he could end the Russia-Ukraine war in 24 hours. He’s proved powerless to make that happen. If he had divine powers to work his will, why would he have balked at implementing his tariffs so often that Wall Street adopted the “TACO trade” term for his deals? “TACO” stands for “Trump always chickens out.”
And why would Trump have made so many embarrassing concessions to China — from rescinding tariffs on Chinese goods to allowing them to buy crucial and incredibly valuable computer chips?
But Trump saw his success at capturing Venezuelan strongman Nicolas Maduro as proof of his ability to launch missiles to the same effect as Zeus’ lightning bolts. Trump believed he was the most powerful man who ever lived.
This is no exaggeration. In March, when the Iran invasion seemed successful, Trump gave a document penned by“Presidential Historian David King” to New York Times reporters Maggie Haberman and Jonathan Swan purporting to prove that Trump was “the most powerful person to have EVER walked this planet.” King was, in fact, a businessman and occasional caddy for legendary golfer Gary Player.
King compared Trump favorably to many of history’s most powerful, and often heinous, figures: Alexander the Great, Attila the Hun, William the Conqueror, Napoleon Bonaparte, Joseph Stalin, Genghis Khan, Mao Tse Tung, Adolf Hitler and Vladimir Lenin. Many of these men thought they were the most powerful person in the world, too. And many were defeated precisely because they believed it.
At least Napoleon and Hitler had a string of truly impressive victories before they learned the folly of hubris. The limits on Trump’s power have been exposed by far less august forces than the combined might of the allies in World War II or the fearsome Russian winter.
Iran is a comparatively middling power. But the regime’s ability to absorb punishment while imposing its will on the Strait of Hormuz has proved to be a greater constraint on Trump’s power than his morality or mind. We should note that, at least rhetorically, his morality has not proved much of a constraint. He has repeatedly promised to destroy Iranian “civilization” if the regime refuses to capitulate.
But they haven’t — and won’t anytime soon — because the regime’s tolerance for pain far outstrips Trump’s. The combined fear of skyrocketing oil prices, outrage of Gulf state potentates, diminishing weapon supplies and domestic unpopularity is doing the work that international law, congressional oversight and the collective opinion of foreign policy experts can’t or won’t do.
If I considered Trump more heroic than reason and facts could allow, I would say his Sisyphean predicament has the whiff of Greek tragedy to it. Trump is vexed by the fact that the Iranians won’t honor deals or ratify his countless premature claims of victory — giving new meaning to his vow that his presidency would make people tired of winning. It’s almost like they’re out-Trumping Trump.
Things might have gone better if he’d heeded that great Greek tragedian Sophocles: “For Zeus utterly abhors the boasts of a proud tongue.”
____
Jonah Goldberg is editor-in-chief of The Dispatch and the host of The Remnant podcast. His Twitter handle is @JonahDispatch.